


Bound

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: LOTRPS - Freeform, M/M, Monaboyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-06
Updated: 2005-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pink panties and toothmarks in unusual places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

"So then Josh says 'If you do that one more time I swear to god they'll have to write you out because you'll be fucking dead.' I know, he was completely pissed off." Dom snickers and shifts the phone, listening, still smiling. "Not much. Nah, don't think I'll be up for surfing today. Yeah." His eyes flick to Billy, naked and cross-legged on the sofa beside him. "Yeah, Bill's here. We're just gonna stay in, I think."

Billy snorts, not lifting his eyes. The little brush is smooth and wet and he pays careful attention to his work, dragging it across Dom's fingernails one stripe at a time.

"Okay, man, talk to you later." A tinny bleep and Dom sets the phone down. "Now what?"

"What do you mean, now what?" Billy has finished Dom's right hand and now snaps his fingers for the left. "Call someone else if you're bored." The nail varnish glitters faintly as Dom splays his hand to look at it. The paint is a purple so dark it's nearly black, flecked with glitter. The bottle says "Midnight Passion" - Dom looked when Billy stopped to get undressed.

"Looks good, mate."

"Shame you'll have to take it all off tomorrow," Billy comments. The tip of his tongue is visible, small and pointed and pink, as he starts in on the thumb.

"Mmm." Dom sits still for about five seconds, then his knee starts jiggling. "Dial Lij for me, willya?"

Billy sighs and puts the brush back in the bottle, setting both aside. "I don't actually have that much left. Y'could just wait." But he is already reaching past Dom for the phone, leaning in front of him. Dom tilts forward, puts his open mouth on Billy's bare shoulder. "Quit it," Billy says immediately, and just as immediately Dom obeys, leaning back, smiling. Billy stays where he is, half-draped across Dom, to dial Los Angeles. It's a test, but one which Dom passes: he sits still, though his knee jounces slightly beneath the curve of Billy's body.

Finally Billy sits back, the phone to his ear. "I don't think he's -" he starts to say, then - "Elijah!" Dom can hear Lij's voice, faraway and small, and then Billy interrupts. "Hey, actually Dom wanted to say hi, hold on a sec," and Billy wedges the phone between Dom's shoulder and ear and sits back, reaching for the nail varnish again.

"Lij!" Dom listens, laughs, smirks, brags. Billy finishes his left hand and gets up. Dom waves his hands lazily in the air to dry the varnish as he speaks to Elijah; he watches Billy disappear into the toilet.

A moment later Billy is stalking toward him, a thin pencil in one hand, and Dom loses track of what Elijah is saying, grinning in gleeful anticipation, his stomach fluttering, cock hardening against the inseam of his jeans. Shivery bumps sheet over his arms and the sparse hairs between his bare pectorals want to stand on end.

Billy climbs onto his lap, straddling him. He removes the phone from its home against Dom's ear and puts it briefly to his own cheek. "Lij? Yeah, Billy. Listen, Dom has to go now." His voice is cheerful and matter-of-fact, green eyes zeroed in on Dom, and the younger man's conversational abilities burn to ash. "Yeah. He'll call you back. When? Huh. Whenever I finish tying him down and fucking him." He pushes the "end" button, cutting Elijah off mid-squawk, and grins. His eyes are still dangerous; in juxtaposition with the sinful, perfect curve of his cupie-bow lips, it is brain-melting, Dom thinks. Or would think, if he could remember how.

Billy drops the phone and holds up the eyeliner. "Now." Dom nods and watches as Billy uncaps it. "Look up."

Dom does. "Can I -?"

"Talk? Yes. Touch me? No." Business-like. Dom stares at the ceiling as Billy draws delicate lines beneath his lower lashes. "How you doing here?" Billy reaches between them, squeezes Dom's crotch almost cruelly hard.

Dom gasps. "I'm - uh - okay. They're more comfortable than I thought they would be." He begins chewing on his lip, wills himself not to dig his nails into the leather sofa cushions. The varnish is still slightly tacky, will smutch if too much pressure is applied. And then Billy might have to reapply it. Might - Dom swallows - remove the varnish and refuse to start over, might leave Dom hard and frustrated and completely unable to touch himself.

Billy moves to the other eye. "So no more comments about me poncing about in something like for the movie?"

"Nnh - no." Dom closes his eyes, opens them before Billy can reprimand him. "Sorry."

"Mmm." A pause; then: "Finished."

Dom blinks, looking down, then raises his eyes to Billy's. "What now?"

Billy surveys him, eyes narrowed slightly. His cheeks are flushed; it's the only sign that he's paying attention at all. "Bedroom, I think." He swings off Dom's lap, stands. His cock is half hard, and for a moment Dom stares. Billy allows it, then smiles faintly. "C'mon," he says. "It just gets better."

Dom pushes himself up. "I know it does." He smiles and walks ahead of Billy into the bedroom, not too fast, because he knows Billy loves the way his jeans ride low on his hips, the way his shoulders move when he walks. "You've been busy," he murmurs, looking at the scarves trailing from the bed frame onto the mattress. The room is chilly with air conditioning and warm with sunlight.

"Take off your trousers." Billy passes Dom and reclines on the bed, propped on one elbow.

Dom stands still in front of him. Unbuttons the jeans, unzips. Looks down to watch his own hands. The denim folds back in a vee, revealing pale pink satin and warm golden skin. A narrow line of hair disappears beneath the material, and Dom pushes his jeans down further, slowly. He knows what Billy wants to see. The trousers slip and slide until they're midway down his thighs and the knickers, and the hard ridge of Dom's erection straining against the flimsy cloth, are completely visible.

"All the way off - just the trousers." Billy's voice is as slick and chilly as the satin, and Dom shivers as he kicks the jeans away. He relaxes, then, hands loose by his side, head bent.

Billy's voice is warmer the next time he speaks: "Put your hand on your stomach, flat," and a little blush of pleasure warms Dom's neck and chest. He does what he's told, gazing down at his own long fingers, at the way the black nail varnish contrasts with his pale stomach. "Look at me."

Dom looks up. Billy's face is distinctly pink--Dom keeps his visage completely still, but thinks that his lover is almost the colour of the panties Dom has on. He doesn't let the thought show, however, just levels his gaze at Billy, loving that he can see Billy's cock swell a bit just at the sight, that Billy will permit him to see this.

"Touch yourself."

Dom keeps his eyes on Billy as he slides his hand down. Over the satin, and it's a struggle to keep his eyes open when he's finally gripping his erection through the soft material; his lids sag and he stares at Billy through the blur of his own lashes. He massages for a moment, feeling his face and chest flush deeper. His lips part and his head tilts to one side a fraction as he pulls and rubs at himself.

"You're getting wet," Billy says softly, but he doesn't tell Dom to stop, so Dom just keeps going, slipping two fingers down to push into the skin of his balls, tugging at his cock. He is leaking pre-come, of course--a moment later a patch of damp satin brushes Dom's pelvis in proof.

"Tell me how it feels. Tell me what you're thinking of."

Dom closes his eyes; Billy doesn't stop it. "You." Dom rubs gently, slides his finger along the seam between his legs, touching skin, the crease where thigh meets pelvis. "What you're going to do to me." He sighs. "What I want you to do to me."

He hears a creak; Billy is moving. An instant later Dom feels his presence, warm breath across his lips, body heat radiating. "Open your eyes, Dommeh." Dom does. Billy is standing two inches from him, head down, watching Dom's fingers squeeze and release the hard line of his cock through the panties. "Stop."

Dom's hands fall to the side, and Billy kneels carefully before him, reaches up and hooks his fingers through the sides of the panties. He slides them down, and Dom steps out of them, balancing with one hand on Billy's shoulder; when Billy has the knickers in his hand and Dom is naked, Dom drops his hand again and stands quiescent.

"Are you looking at me, Dominic?"

Dom nods; realises Billy is looking at the scrap of cloth, not him. Clears his throat. "Yes."

Billy holds the panties up, sitting back on his heels and spreading the pink satin out between his two hands like a salesman displaying them. "Look at that." He turns them, shows Dom the wet spot on the front. "Such a slut." He drapes the knickers over one hand, the damp smear over two knuckles, and then lifts his eyes to Dom's as his small pink tongue creeps out to touch the fabric. His teeth close over the material and he sucks lightly at it, then tosses the panties onto the bed and leans forward to tongue the head of Dom's cock, glistening with pre-come.

Dom shudders; his hands flex and tense, but he doesn't fist them. Billy's mouth opens and he slides forward, just over the head of Dom's cock, licking at the ridge, nudging the foreskin fully back with his lips; sucking, finally, a brief burst of vacuum so powerful that Dom's knees buckle for a second.

Billy slips off immediately and stands; Dom straightens and lowers his head again.

"Such a good little slut," Billy says, "and I don't think I can stand to make myself wait too long today." He touches Dom's arm, runs his small hand up the forearm to Dom's bicep and traces the swell of muscle there. Pushes lightly, and Dom steps forward and climbs onto the high bed.

"How do you want me?" he murmurs. He's starting to sweat. Billy's mouth on his cock set him to vibrating, and it's getting harder to stay still, to focus on being obedient. He knows that Billy knows it, predicts it, counts on it. Wants it.

But it's scary, because he also never knows quite how far he can push Billy. Eventually he'll be taken care of, of course. Eventually Billy will push his face into the mattress (pillow, floor, cushion, wall, door) and fuck him till his eyes roll back (voice disappears, back arches, lungs compress) and he comes so hard he forgets his own name in favour of Billy's. But _eventually_ has many meanings, and Billy's patience is far, far more elastic than Dom's.

He's hoping the entire day, which has been one long tease, will lead Billy to stick to his words. He's hoping Billy will get onto the bed and climb aboard and fuck him right through the mattress, starting about, say, now.

"Lie on your back," Billy purrs, and he climbs up (yes!) and straddles Dom's waist. His cock is hard and red and lies heavily along Dom's belly as he leans over and gently grasps his hands, pulling them down and together. Then Billy reaches back, reaches for something, fishes under Dom's thigh for - what?

The _panties_, the pink satin panties, and Dom's breath catches and he has to tense his arms to keep his wrists still as Billy wraps the fabric around his wrists and between them, stretching the delicate material all to hell and gone so he can tie a tidy knot, binding Dom's hands firmly together. Another lean (again the tantalizing press of his cock into Dom's abdomen, and Dom shudders as he inhales, fills his belly and chest with air just to feel that ridge of pressure better, to press it tighter between Billy's pelvis and his stomach) and Billy is raising Dom's arms up, over his head, he's pulling the scarf from the bedstead and tugging it until it is between Dom's wrists, tying it tight and neat and perfect.

"Thank fucking god for Barrett Bonden," Dom says.

It's a mistake - Billy sits up and back, regards Dom through cool eyes the color of jade.

Dom swallows. "You said I could talk," and he hates the whine in his voice, flushes as more sweat prickles up along his scalp. It gets perilous, now.

Billy is still and silent for a long moment; he opens that sweet small mouth and then cocks his head; reconsiders and closes his lips. He swings off Dom and settles onto his heels beside the younger man. He waits.

Dom tries to wait him out, but his blood has been replaced by something else, some poisonous sticky liqueur, something syrupy and needy. So he closes his eyes, opens them. Stares at Billy defiantly and then looks away, turning his head restlessly on the pillow. His hips press back and down in an involuntary movement and he swallows. Shuts his eyes. Opens them again.

"You did!" he cries finally. "You said I could talk, you never said I couldn't!" Rage boils up in him at the whine in his voice, the gravelly edge that he hates and loves. A drop of saltwater slides down his temple and he feels himself stained with a blush as vivid and red as a tropical sunset.

Triumph curls one corner of Billy's lips for a bare instant and then is masked. "Don't abuse the privilege," he says mildly, and looks away.

Reaches for the little tube on the night table, and Dom nearly weeps with relief.

Billy squeezes a little of the gel into his left palm and then dips his right index finger into it. He begins drawing on Dom's skin.

Warm blunt fingertip in cool clear liquid. It's odourless ("You smell so much better than that candy-smelling shite," Billy once said into Dom's ear as he fucked him, and Dom has never forgotten it) and colourless, and thin, and Billy traces Dom's body lazily with it, patterns and letters that Dom can't read, words in a language he thinks he knows but can't quite translate. He shakes under Billy's finger, shakes when Billy leans over, as he does every once in a while, and blows across his skin. Goose pimples rise and vanish over every inch of him as Billy's fingertip skates across his skin. The small hairs of Dom's body are flattened and slicked in odd, prickling patterns.

Somewhere in the process Billy begins to hum quietly to himself. He scribes the lines of Dom's muscles, he touches every part of him, he does not differentiate between erogenous zones and less sensitive areas, with the result that in a very short time every surface of Dom's body is as sensitive and electrified as his cock.

Dom doesn't speak, concentrates only on breathing and watching, because Billy is incredibly beautiful, absorbed this way. His head falls to one side, eyelids lowered to hide his powerful irises, dangerous pupils. There's only the dusty sweep of his lashes and the curve of his rounded cheekbones, the delicate upward curve of his upper lip with its entrancing dip in the center, and occasionally a quick peek at the tip of his tongue against the cushion of his lower lip when he concentrates. Billy's hair is fine, and falls in a certain way over his high forehead, tangles in a certain way at the nape of his neck - Dom knows if he could read the language Billy is scrawling so carefully upon his skin, he could also read the words contained in how the hair lies in those places, how it dusts his arms and chest and thighs and calves, how it curls over the tips of his ears. If Dom's hands weren't tied, he would reach to read those words, he would touch and stroke and then tug and twist, digging deep, yanking hard, to understand that language.

"Soon, now, Dommeh," Billy says, and his fingertip dips again into the little reservoir of lubricant. Billy's patterns loop and curve now, meandering closer and closer to Dom's center, and finally Billy draws a straight line down the narrow trail of hair from Dom's navel to his cock. Billy closes his hand on Dom's cock, no warning, just a tight, slick grip.

Dom's silence and breath shatter like overheated glass and he arches and shouts, head back - no words, because Billy wrote all the words down and Dom doesn't have any left. Dom's legs fall open and he offers his hips up, as desperate and frantic now as he was hypnotised and calm a split second ago.

Billy smiles.

He slides his hand up and down Dom's cock twice and then lowers it, brings his left hand up and palms Dom's balls until the lube drips down the sensitive skin to the puckered hole between his arse cheeks, and Billy isn't careful anymore, no, not at all - his fingers smear the lube messily onto the wrinkled, delicate entrance. He moves one hand to Dom's hip and Dom subsides abruptly, moans and shakes but is otherwise still as Billy slides in one finger and then two, curls and thrusts them.

Dom is so turned on by this point that Billy's rough preparation is more than enough; when Billy leans over and mouths Dom's shaft, stroking his prostate at the same time, Dom nearly comes right then and there.

Billy knows it, of course, and backs off; as he lifts his mouth slowly from Dom's cock, a thin line of sticky pre-come links his lips and Dom's drum-taut head for an instant. "Turn over," Billy says; his voice is steady but his lashes tremble and Dom bares his teeth - he shows his refusal by curling up and back, lifting his legs and offering himself wantonly up to Billy, knees somewhere by his ears and feet in the air.

"Fucking turn over, Dominic," Billy snarls, control slipping, and he slaps Dom's arse hard, his fingers and palm wet with lube so the angry red handprint appears instantly and Dom yelps with the sting of it.

"Fuck me -" Dom demands angrily, hooking one ankle over Billy's shoulder, trying to draw him sideways and over and inward.

"You _have_ to fucking _push_," Billy growls, so motionless suddenly that Dom nearly panics, because he's tied here and Billy is perfectly capable of walking out the door, even now; Dom can see the other man's cock, thick and red and twitching in time with the pulse in his throat, but that doesn't mean much, with Billy; he's the most patient lover Dom's ever had, and willing to take his pleasure early or late. "You just have to fucking push me."

Ah, but he won't leave today.

He lifts one hand to hold Dom's foot; Dom is ready to be flipped, twisted, pushed down. But instead Billy grips him, turns his head and sinks his small teeth into Dom's achilles tendon.

Dom's whole body comes loose - he screeches and arches, his other leg crashing to the bed as his arms go rigid against the restraint and his neck snaps back into the pillows. But Billy is strong - fucking wiry little fucker - and he keeps Dom's right foot right where it is on his shoulder, despite the thrashing going on elsewhere; his teeth never relent. Finally Dom forces himself to shuddering stillness, and then Billy opens his jaw and sucks gently at the toothmarks that are engraved in Dom's skin, etched deep and red and furious.

He laves the skin with his tongue one last time and sets Dom's leg gently onto the bed. "Turn over."

Dom's whole body shakes as he obeys; it's difficult, with his hands bound together, and when he succeeds, the panties and the scarf are even tighter around his wrists than before. He lies still, on his face with his knees drawn up under him, hunched over like a tortoise, arms stretched before him like a supplicant.

Billy moves his hand over Dom's back, soothing him with long, firm strokes that ease the trembling. "Beautiful," he murmurs, and Dom eases at his voice, a long, quaking sigh fluttering from his belly. "Want to sink into you, my beautiful wanton lad."

"Please," Dom says; his voice is harsh, for his throat hasn't surrendered to the calm in Billy's hands, and Dom thinks he may fly apart if he doesn't get Billy's weight on and in him soon.

And this, too, Billy knows.

He proves it as he kneels behind Dom, hands warm and flat on his hips. "Beautiful," Billy says again, making a feast of the word, and Dom closes his eyes as he feels Billy nudge his way inside in one smooth, slow, tight slide. Billy bends over - Dom can feel his chest and belly against his own back and arse, the tight friction as Billy moves. Small strokes, only his hips working as his chin rests on Dom's spine and his hands rub and grip the younger man's biceps. Billy's lips again his back as he continues the short, tight thrusts. "Beautiful. Wanton." Billy's words are warm air and moisture across Dom's vertebrae. He shifts again, lifts slightly and changes the angle of his thrusts. They're longer, deeper, and just at the deepest point they skitter across Dom's prostate like water on the surface of the sun. Dom moans. "Tell me."

He moans again, and Billy slides his right hand to his shoulder, rubs the nape of his neck and pushes his fingers up Dom's scalp in a shudder-inducing scrape that has Dom seeing stars. "Tell me, Dominic." Billy's fingers are gentle, splayed against Dom's skull and tangled in his hair, pressing his head forward and down.

Dom curves his back slightly to meet Billy's steady thrusting, head tilting further down. He opens his eyes and stares blindly at what he sees: the underside of his own hunched body, curved belly folded in on itself and his cock, bobbing with every pulsebeat; an odd view of the front of Billy's thighs, framed between Dom's own. White sheets, rumpled and shadowed.

"Hard," he says. He means it is hard to speak.

"I know." Billy's fingers scritch at his scalp. "Tell me."

Dom closes his eyes. He begins to rock back against Billy's thrusts, and sighs with loss when Billy's hand leaves his head. He inhales sharply a moment later, as Billy reaches down - his cheek is against Dom's back, breath huffing across it again - and circles Dom's cock with his fingers and palm.

Billy doesn't ask him to speak again. He thrusts again and again, smooth and steady, and moves his hand in time. Dom feels his orgasm pooling in his thighs and balls. He has time, but not much.

"Slut." Dom whispers the word.

Billy's hips pause and then jerk against him a little harder. He squeezes Dom's cock and resumes his stroking.

"Yours," Dom says, and he can’t remember what he means by it, unless it is this: that he will do anything, be anything, open himself as wide as he can as long as he can as hard and strong and much as he can... for Billy. "Yours." He chokes on it a bit, he's about to come.

Billy groans and pushes and shivers. "Yours," he moans, his voice high and fierce and then gone as he peaks, and at the uneven buck of his hips and the unconscious pull of his hand, Dom comes, too, jerking himself back onto Billy and sobbing into the pillow as his body shakes hard and his fingers twist in the fabric of the scarf binding his wrists.

Billy lies on Dom's back quietly, just the rhythmic sigh of his breathing to show he's alive at all.

Dom closes his eyes and sags down, shifting his legs wider and ignoring the clammy touch of the sheets where his come spilled onto them. He sighs, long and contented, and wonders if Billy has fallen asleep.

A while later - several minutes, at least, just when Dom is drifting into disjointed fragments of dream, Billy moves. He's soft now, and slips from Dom's body with only the slightest of frictions. Dom lies still, face turned to the side and eyes still closed, as Billy crawls up the bed and fumbles at the knots around his wrists. Dom feels the bindings loosen as the scarf is tugged away, then Billy's fingers, more nimble now, are picking at the tightly knotted silk and he tenderly unwraps the panties from Dom's wrists.

"I don't think I can return these to the store," Billy says, and Dom grins and rolls over, cautiously rotating his shoulders and lowering his arms, pleased with the faint burn in his scapulae and deltoids and the angry red marks on his narrow wrists.

Billy is holding the panties up like a tattered flag.

"Aside from the fact that I wore them all day and that's just not done, I think you're right," Dom says.

"I stretched 'em all out of shape," Billy comments, lying down beside Dom and dangling the knickers over their heads. "Never be the same again."

"It was me that stretched 'em all out," Dom said lazily. "Even if you'd never tied them around my wrists." He waggles his eyebrows at Billy, who snorts and drops the pink silk onto Dom's face.

"I need a nap," Billy says, rolling over and half-onto Dom.

"And you think you'll just take it right there, hmm?" But Dom's objection is half-hearted at best; he pulls the silk from his face - it smells of sweat and sex - and reaches clumsily for the duvet to pull over them both. The tropical sun is still high in the sky, and both of them could use a kip. Billy's weight is perfect and comforting, and Dom wraps his arm around the other man and presses a kiss into Billy's sweaty hair. "Thanks."

"Mmmm. Pleasure's all mine," Billy murmurs, his standard reply. He exhales and wriggles even closer, pushing his nose into Dom's neck. "Slut," he sighs, and he giggles inaudibly, and they fall asleep that way in the yellow light of the afternoon.

 

 

~ _end_ ~


End file.
